Verse 1

Every single thing makes a unique 
           sound.
           Slap your arm, 
           slap your cheek —
Do they 
           sound the 
           same?

The tale of love is like three butterflies
hovering around a fire lamp.
The three were thrown out from a 
hot air-blowing standing fan into absolute absence.
So we, burning of love, fire desire turns into smoke.

Soul singing itself up to meet its saviour.
Smoke choking everybody in the room.
Then, I yawned out of bed to open the waste bin.
Throwing a fire lamp into this robotic bin in the year 2076.
Never again will I allow me to be heartbroken.
Grief so thick in the goat's throat.
Greatest of all time, they called me.
Greatest of all shawarma I became.

But at least I also enjoyed that eating.
And in the continuous welcoming breath of the morning sun.
When the universe was about to open wide,
Like the thumb and second finger who met just now, 
and departed.
But do you understand?

There are three types of people.
Sane people.
Those who are insane.
And people beyond insanity.
Having an experience is beyond insanity.

Verse 2

Sieved away, Sieved out.
Chaff from corn.
Left and right, the basket of net shivering.
Shivering until the day's dawn reversed back into death.
Actually, not death, but into life.

On the road in that lonely moment of closed eyes.
Words began to turn into mouths.
Mouths like a Kardashian.
When you close your eyes, can you see Kim?
Can you see the lovely side of the black dress on a red carpet?

Howbeit, The journey of sleep must keep sailing like Dwayne Johnson on a boat.
We must continue to stern straight into the sun's heart.
Morning darkness passes through the water bridge into the light.

What sort of machine cuts the forest?
Roofing, biking, and on the owner's grip— bombing down trees.
The boat through the bride is sailing.
We are almost there.

Birds, doves, trees, snakes and vultures were all together.
Poor rabbit in their midst.
Yet, the thirsty tiger is hoping thunder will strike.
The boat through the bride is sailing.
We are almost there.

Imagine you were a spoon gnashing someone's teeth.
You can carry a load heavier than you.
That strong meat requires delight to the stylish breakfast.
A packet dense full of wisdom.
Iron spoon — a medium.

Verse 3
How can I live one thousand years of life in an eighty?
The meaning of this glimpse still gets me thinking, what is this place of the world?
For sure, it doesn't look like hell or heaven.
I'm alive when I sleep?
But where do I go to that I'm conscious?

The fancy flowers between the boy's lap
have a fancy floor on the hairy grounds.
You are not like others who get scared of what's in front of them.
You are the dry stick that thorns the wild roses.
The door-wrenching brass of war.
A flower whose main activity is to breathe and photosynthesize.
Destroyer.

Stop banging on the door, destroyer.
Stop wishing me good night, and then come back the destroyer.
Stop punching me in the face,
And later touched me with a hand of milk cream.
When the sharks swim, which stars look after them?
When a grey amber whale, its mother calls for them.
Fish probably eat fish.
On the way, some of them are already on their way out, yet want to be president.
To preside over a whole country at a wrinkling age.
EndSarsNow!
Go get your PVC.